Books in Canada

PEMBA JADE, be the age of yellowing photographs and slow movements, flip flying things bout the night lights and a goneness of what were when you only see'd its shadow -- come'd -

A dark blue, wool saucer tam with the knot in the center, supported by an octagon base and grey every-which-a-way hair covered her head. Cepting fer her thick bifocals -- rimmed in silver what extended her eyes out over her nose -and rouged-on mouth, the rest of her face be a testimony on blackness. She wore her no style blue green overcoat covering a long everyday dress -- lacy black on shiny something -- which hung to her old heavy black low heel nurse's shoe tops. She'd been shopping afore she come'd to the cemetery and what she couldn't put into her string shopping bag or in her purse, she bundled up in a brown paper sack to carry under her arm, alternating. Her walking sways be paced by an old cane and some days a raggidy dirt grey dog trailed her sniffing under her long dress and tho, the dog be in back or to the side Of her, she'd always -- in little quick jerks -- flip-push her cane out front of her -- never turning around -- to shoo it away: "GIT! away, damnit!"

In the cemetery, the dog'd go on ahead of her, sniffing at the grave stones and pissing on the flower reefs and such like. Pemba jade, stepped farward to a stoplook-around motion, her right arm reaching and hand rest-ready pressed full onto a head stone -- her head cocked in the sparrows' sight-look, til quicklike, she think she seen:

"...is that yours, Aaron... ?" which lefted her mouth open. Then, right erect, her fingers'd stand stiff-, arched; -- took on the pose of a alert but less-little-steady-aged, black hound, shaky and rhythm-sniffing out Old Aaron's grave from a top the leaning head stone. It's truth! The dirt grey dog come'd circle Miss Pemba jade, searching fer attention NONE it ran on off, his tail slapping her dress and turning the air the swirls of, at her feet, just rose'd up without notice.

Miss Pemba, leaned up in the expectance, pulled her purse, string bag and brown paper sack to her breast til a heaviness come'd from not being sure -- she squinted on the distance -- to suredness: "Darlin aint there..." closed her mouth to swallow and look in other directions: "Aaron, you aint gots no wheres to go to!" she asked from inquiring sweetness too tired to worry herselfs ... she stooped to sag: "Which be your place?" and kneeled to sit, thinking that his being there in the grave yard. Enough.